Almost Lover
by LaFlaneur
Summary: It hadn't been difficult to fall in love with Jem; everyone fell in love with Jem. Rated T for lovely Heronstairs angst.


_**Author's Note**: Hello all, and welcome to my very first Heronstairs fic. I have a few more in the making as we speak, but you should know before you begin that I write in a world where Tessa Gray _does not exist_. This is very important. I write less plot and more character development - generally angsty nonsense that doesn't really fit into any particular timeline or accepted canon universe. This particular piece is written from Will's point of view and details his feelings for Jem, culminating in what might be considered their "first kiss". Very melodramatic - a study in prose poetry with very little dialogue. _

_As I said before, if you like this then there is certainly more to come. Just remember, the only ship I ship is Heronstairs, so if you're looking for anything Tessa-related then you have come to the wrong place._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

It hadn't been difficult to fall in love with Jem. _Everyone_ fell in love with Jem. Kindness radiated from his every pore – tenderness and tragic, empty happiness lived in his pale eyes. Skin like porcelain and long, slim violinist's fingers caught you and pulled you along by the wrist. Fragile like frozen bubbles and breakable as beautiful blown glass. With a smile to melt even the coldest heart and a laugh that reminded one of lazy days in the sun and all the joys and sorrows of childhood, all at once and all sharp lovely reminiscence. That was Jem. It was _all_ Jem, everywhere and always, and Will was uniquely aware of this fact.

It wasn't that he had been afraid to tell Jem these things. For reasons unknown, Jem had already given Will every sign that he was Will's for the taking. It was Will who had chosen Jem first, but Jem had chosen him every time after that. Again and again, soft and steady as a silent November snow, Jem chose his _parabatai _first and smiled – just smiled, as if loving Will for and despite the darker boy's deplorable temperament were the most obvious choice in the world.

No. Will had kept all those words to himself not because he feared rejection, but because Jem was simply too perfect. The boy was immaculate – a silver jewel too precious for Will's grubby fingers. As friends they were fine, as _parabatai _they excelled – as lovers they would have made a fine mess. Will knew this. He knew he would have dirtied Jem even without meaning to. A casual arm slung about the shoulders was one thing – a lover's embrace was a vast and terrifying other. The thought of Jem's lips, his throat, the fine skin stretched taut over delicate cheekbones … Will had dirt beneath his fingernails and knew he could never touch Jem in those lovely places, not in those ways. Not in the ways he wanted.

He had all but told Jem so, all those long nights ago, when Jem had come to him. After a hunt, as it always was that Will felt closest to Jem. His parabatai had been dealt a devastating blow to the back of the shoulder – the fair skin was rent to display the sinew and fine muscle beneath. He was facing away from Will, wincing as his friend cleaned the wound of dirt and debris. If Will took longer than necessary, lingering over the soft skin and the delicate shoulder blade, he did not think Jem would notice. But he was wrong.

A quarter of an hour later, Jem hummed a soft melody as Will finished his work – the pain gone, Jem allowed himself to be soothed by his friend's sure fingers. And Will, in turn, found himself absently caught in Jem's low voice and the notes that vibrated in his chest and the bones beneath Will's hand.

Will closed his eyes, his thumb travelling up from Jem's shoulder, over the back of his neck and to his hairline. Without ceasing his song, Jem brought his left hand up and across to catch Will's fingers where they rested just above his jaw line, just behind his ear, until both boys were cupping the right side of Jem's face, hand over hand, bound and touching and breathing and waiting.

And then Jem's song abruptly ended and Will pulled back. He waited for his brother's next move.

But Jem only turned to look at him, slowly, a sweet smile on his lips. It was obvious that he was not rejecting Will's subconscious advances… And Will thought for a moment – hesitated – wondered if he might just get away with it. If he could touch Jem without soiling him, if he could have Jem without hurting him. And the words were there on his tongue: _Yes, Jem, I see you, and I know what you are thinking. I share your thoughts. And I want you too; I have always wanted you. I loved you first, I am certain. But that doesn't matter now. None of it matters now. I am yours and always have been yours. You can have all of me, James, everything I am or have been or will ever be. There is no Will Herondale without Jem Carstairs. You can take me and have me and I will be yours today and forever and in any and every hereafter. You are beautiful, James, and I should not touch you but I want to, oh, I want you and all of your lovely words and your perfect smiles for as long as you choose to share them with me because I love you, I love you, I love you as I have never loved anyone …_

But those words were stillborn and his tongue laid limp against his teeth.

"Will?"

Will couldn't speak and when Jem leaned forward he began to panic. This was not at all how he imagined it would go. He wasn't ready. He sat frozen as Jem reached out to touch his face. Cool fingers on his flushed cheek felt so heavenly that Will nearly missed the words that came after.

"Did I… did I misinterpret your intentions, Will?"

Will stared at Jem, at the way his lips formed the words Will was not hearing. Now was his chance. Jem was smiling, and waiting, and Will could reach out and touch him if he chose. Jem was asking …

But then Jem was frowning at Will's prolonged silence and retracting his hand and apologizing – just as if his love were not the single most important point in Will's universe – the pale sun around which all of Will's thoughts orbited.

"I do not mean to take liberties," Jem said, already pulling his shirt from Will's lap and covering his exposed skin. "Forgive me, Will…"

And Jem looked so sad, and so shamed; and Will knew he should let him go. One night of hurt was surely better than the terrible burden of Will's love from this night henceforth. But logic played no part where Jem's lips were concerned and his frown broke Will's heart into a billion shards, all with Jem's name finely carved in lovely script.

"You have no cause to ask my forgiveness," Will said quickly – too quickly, catching Jem's hand at the door. "Jem, you've done _nothing_ wrong."

And Jem did not hesitate a second time, but took Will's face between his hands, spread his slim fingers over Will's cheeks and let his thumbs rest in the hollows beneath Will's blue eyes.

Will knew he should have closed his eyes – he had kissed plenty of girls, after all, the procedure could not have been all that different. But he could not bring himself to lose sight of the beauty before him. Instead he studied Jem's fine silver lashes and the eyelids as delicate as tissue paper. One … two seconds. And then Will shut his eyes tight against the tears forming there and brought his arms up to crush Jem to him. A huff of startled laughter came between them but Jem did not break the kiss. He smiled against Will's lips and let his fingers trail down Will's face, over his cheekbones and down his jaw line.

Will's hands soon mirrored Jem's, and he struggled with himself and all the places he wanted to _touch_ all at once. He marveled at Jem's grace – how gently and expertly he shifted Will's gravity.

And Will's hands were everywhere – in Jem's hair, at Jem's waist, around Jem's neck, pushing and pulling all at once, desperate sounds in his throat and frustrated, needy tears in his eyes.

"Will," Jem murmured, breaking away to kiss Will's temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Will nipped back at him, but Jem was chuckling softly, "Will, easy … slow down."

Will meant to laugh along with Jem, but instead a sob broke from his throat and he pushed Jem roughly away before grabbing his shirt front and pulling him back close.

"Will?" Jem pleaded, but Will's eyes were shut fast. "Will!"

"Jem," Will whispered, "Jem, Jem, Jem, Jem, Jem, Jem, _Jem_, Jem…"

And Jem did not ask, but pulled Will's head to him, placed it on his chest and let Will's ear rest over his heart. He smoothed the hair back from Will's damp forehead, petting Will and letting the other boy sob and pant and run his hands all over Jem's face, his hair, his arms. "Will, talk to me. What is it? What have I done? Anything you want, Will, just tell me…"

But Will didn't speak. Just let himself slow to silence in Jem's arms; let the passion and the torment ebb away until he knew he would be able to control himself. And just as he opened his eyes to see his own dirty fingers bunched in the shoulder of Jem's shirt, Jem said, "I love you, William," and Will knew that that must be the end of it.

He did not let himself meet Jem's eyes as he pushed away. He knew the grey light there would kill him – that the silver hope in Jem's eyes and the way his friend would forgive him anything, even this, would slice right into his soul and leave a scar for all to see.

No, he did not meet Jem's eyes, but he could not stop himself hearing the break in Jem's voice as the boy asked only, "Will?" before Will was out the door and down the hall...

There were other nights, of course, when they would be alone and Jem would adopt that tone of voice he saved only for Will. And Will would flinch when he heard it, and Jem would ask, "Why?" and Will would have to get up and leave the room without a word. He hated himself for it, but took the smallest comfort in knowing that it was surely for the best. That Jem would understand and move on. And he need never know that sometimes Will would stand outside Jem's door at night, or weep to hear Jem's violin, or whisper Jem's name in the stillness of the early morning hours.

Jem would remain his greatest sin – his sweetest failing. The only thing he wanted and the only thing he could never have – could never touch, no matter how his fingers burned and his heart ached.

And so they danced around each other – the pale, fragile angel and his dark, brooding love. Two parts of the same whole, complementary beats of the same soul, they orbited one around the other. But they could never touch, lest they both come crashing down. And so Will could only sigh, and love in silence, and refer to Jem in the darkness of the long night as his almost-lover. The only light he would ever know, the fleeting fragile depth that pulled him down and overwhelmed him and saw him and saved him.


End file.
